The Bed and Breakfast of CEOs
by viicious
Summary: PalmerHeidegger slash... No, seriously.


The only problem with a conference is the sheer pointlessness of it. The president ShinRa desired to make it most official, but in reality, everyone knew what they were doing, and what he mostly said during these all-important conferences was already mailed to them that morning by way of memorandum. So, ultimately, they got bored and irritable in these long, drab meetings that seemed more like rigmarole than usefulness. 

"And while the poorer sects flood out, the bourgeoisie end up spending wallet-loads on the top plate blah blah blah blaahh Space Durian is a pointy coconut blah blah blah wom wom blah..."

On and on, the president ShinRa speaks of nothing important, while the CEOs talk and whisper amongst themselves. Heidegger looks on as a shy Palmer watches him, eyeing his every move. Palmer thinks, "he's sooo pretty. I just want to eat him up!" while Heidegger thinks, "is that gum on President ShinRa's ass...?" Needless to say, Palmer's not dropping hints any time soon. So while the President ShinRa wraps up his 3 ½ hour long speech, Palmer musters up the courage to ask Heidegger out on a date, which is so damn cute of his fat ass.

As the company of CEOs leave the room, gathering tablets and asking short questions to the President, Heidegger edges towards a table with coffee pot. He begins to pour a drink while Palmer closes in on him. His backside was remnant of a fat Russian militant who, when turned, would have accidently dropped the tip of his beard into his morning coffee that was spent on worthless blabbering not by himself. Palmer looked bashfully to him, while Heidegger looked on menacingly.

"Hey—hey—hey, Heidegger," Palmer said, bounding left and right like he always did, "Your beard is in your coffee."

Heidegger looked to him, thinking he was being stupidly "funny" with him. But when he saw Palmer's fat pointing finger, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Gya ha ha ha!" he bellowed, pulling the long black beard from his drink, "So it's true. Thanks, Palmer."

"No problem!" Palmer replied, over-enthusiastically, feeling stupid suddenly. He got nervous quickly, and tried to speak, but ended up stuttering syllables.

"Something the matter with you, Palmer?" Heidegger asked, hardly worried.

"Heidegger..." he managed to mutter, checking the room for occupants.

"Yes, Palmer?"

Though both were very large, but Palmer moreso, he had to grab and pull Heidegger to him and hold on tight, while he laid one big, sloppy, fatman kiss on Heidegger's hot and bushy lips. Heidegger squirmed and squealed, but calmed down a little as Palmer went on. Finally he broke off, and Heidegger looked a mix of feelings.

"What was that?!" he asked, more surprised than angry.

"Hey—hey—hey, don't get so angry!" Palmer said, wincing. "It was just an invitation."

"For what!?" Heidegger nearly demanded, not so sure if he _actually_ hated that sloppy kiss or not. Contemplation has great consequences.

"I was... wondering.. if you'd... like to go... with me to... to... to the ShinRa Matadors 7!"

Heidegger was surprised and taken back with delight.

"You enjoy bullfighting, too?" he asked, softening immediately to the adorable Palmer's cute inquisition.

"Hey—hey—hey—hey! I used to be one!" Palmer proclaimed triumphantly. "So you want to watch with me?"

"I don't know," Heidegger remarked, stroking his beard. "I'm sorta busy this weekend..."

Palmer was crushed. All he wanted to do was go with the one he admired. Isn't that what anyone would do? Palmer sank his head, ashamedly in front of Heidegger. Then suddenly, his ephiphany came.

"Hey—hey! I have an idea. I'll pay you!" Palmer said, already reaching for his wallet.

"Gya ha ha ha! Pay me?" Heidegger asked, amused at Palmer's cutesy way of feeling optimistic again, "And my ticket?"

Palmer nodded his fat head. "Hey—hey—hey, I'm not cheap!" He pulled out a hefty sum — 10,000 Gil, in bills. He smiled hopefully to Heidegger. Heidegger eyed it, and seemed to be satisfied with the amount. He pocketed it and nodded.

"Fine. I'll go with you," he said.

"Yessss!" Palmer said, dancing around and jiggling his fat happily. "Hey—hey, if there's anything I can do to repay you, name it, and it's done!"

Heidegger laughed. "Gyahahahaahaa! Anything, you say?"

"Anything!"

"Well, then, there is one thing I'd like before I'll be sure I want to go."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Show me your penis."

"My... my what?"

"Your penis."

Palmer was so excited. Heidegger actually asked him to see his cash and prizes. He actually wanted to see the Palmer in his natural state. He hurriedly took off his slacks and dropped them with great haste, and pulling up his shirt tails, he revealed his manpenis.

There is was, as Heidegger saw it, a short, stubby nub poking out of pink belly fat and chunky legs, complimented only by the very large sac that was two balls now made one, nestled fuzzily under it. Heidegger couldn't contain himself. He giggled like a school girl and held up his hands in delight.

He dropped to all fours in a flash with his mouth wide open and THE REST IS HISTORYYYYYYY.

But we really know what happened.

FAAAAT BEEE JAAAAY.


End file.
